The Wrath of Carson
by Eady of Old
Summary: Something was going on, something untoward and unnatural and far too likely to reflect badly on the honor of Downton for his liking. Of course, he had not yet figured out what "it" was exactly, but Carson was determined to get to the bottom of the matter.


**The Wrath of Carson**

 **Summary:** Something was going on, something untoward and unnatural and far too likely to reflect badly on the honor of Downton for _his_ liking. Of course, he had not yet figured out what "it" was exactly, but Carson was determined to get to the bottom of the matter.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Downton Abbey or Star Wars. If I did, well... Things would be a lot different.

 **A/N: In the midst of this week's crippling writer's block, this is all which has come out. I had requests for more and as we still haven't gotten part two of Downton Wars, this is the sequel to the Under Butler Strikes Back. For any fellow sci fi fans out there, the title is deliberately part of the parody. ;-) Everything else is just pure silliness.**

* * *

Something was going on, something untoward and unnatural and far too likely to reflect badly on the honor of Downton for _his_ liking. Of course, he had not yet figured out what "it" was exactly, but Carson was determined to get to the bottom of the matter.

Asking Mrs. Hughes proved fruitless.

"I'm sure I don't know more than you do," she said enigmatically, in that tone which he had learned to actually mean that she knew a great deal more than he did, but she had no intentions of sharing such knowledge.

"Will you at least tell me why Mister Bates insists on wearing a cape?" he implored. "I feel as though I've stepped into a Bram Stoker novel."

"The cape is cool, Mister Carson. The cape is _cool_ ," the housekeeper assured him before flashing a delightful smirk and going about her duties. With a frown, his eyes followed her. No one was about, so he took his time in enjoying the view.

"Mis-ter Carson."

The man had a way of appearing out of no where, as though he were a shadow personified. "Yes, Mister Barrow?" he said, not bothering to restrain his annoyance.

"I wish to lodge a formal complaint."

"A complaint? Of what do you wish to complain this time?"

"About Mister Bates. You see, he's stolen some wine-"

Carson froze and turned to the under butler, holding up a hand. "Wait a moment. I think you are on the wrong script. That was series one."

His brow furrowing, Thomas reached into his back pocket and magically removed a script book the size of a small binder. Flipping through the pages, he found one with highlighted lines. "You see, here?" he pointed out. "I'm supposed to come to you and complain about Mister Bates."

"No, no, you have it wrong again," Carson informed the man. "That script is for series four. Don't you keep up with these things?"

Barrow shrugged a shoulder. "Not really. Why bother? As long as I glare at the valet and complain to you about him, I'm bound to hit upon the right lines eventually."

Carson nodded thoughtfully. "You have a point. All right, what were you saying?"

"The wine, Mister Carson..."

"You mean the cheese, perhaps?" he prompted.

A light bulb seemed to go off in the younger man's head, and he slapped his hands together. "That's it. The cheese. He's been eating all of the cheese, and I won't stand for it. You shouldn't stand for it either, Mister Carson. Like a giant mouse, he is."

Nodding, the butler agreed, "He has been eating rather a lot of cheese. I am amazed he stays regular. I will look into the matter, Mister Barrow."

His tone reflected that the conversation was over, and the younger man dipped his chin in deference before striding away. And as no one else was around, Carson took his time in enjoying the view.

* * *

Miss Baxter watched as the footman moved about the courtyard, using a rough wooden stick as though it were a mighty sword. He did great flourishes and movements as though he'd been trained by the likes of Agrippa and Capo Ferro. He battled imaginary foes with the sort of exuberance one tended to reserve for attempts to impress pretty girls.

And the lady's maid was duly impressed. Once he finished, she clapped with exaggeration, grinning with appreciation at the private display.

"You're very good," she told him.

Shrugging off the compliment, Mr. Molesley said false modestly, "I've only practiced a little. I was inspired by the great battle between Mister Bates and Mister Barrow."

"I thought her ladyship was the victor in that?" she suggested gently.

Clearly suffering from a case of hero worship, the footman said, "Oh, she came at the right moment, surely. But Mister Bates was the one to confront Mister Barrow."

As though speaking his name could conjure him in the way it can only do in fiction, the man himself came striding through the courtyard towards the back door. His bowler hat announced that he was returning from some errand to the village, although coupled with the long, black cape it looked decidedly out of place.

Mr. Molesley lit up like a child at Christmas who had just spotted Santa Clause descending the chimney.

"Mister Bates," he said excitedly, holding out his wooden stick. "I've been practicing. I want to be a Jedi knight like you someday."

Bates stopped, donned a forced smile, and clapped the footman on the shoulder. "Keep at it, Mister Molesley. Mastering the force is all about discipline - of the mind as well as the body."

"Can I see your lightsaber?" Molesley begged.

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

"Mister Molesley, the lightsaber is a very old and elegant weapon, from a more civilized age."

The footman stared at him for a moment, unblinking. Finally, he asked again, "But can I see its elegance?"

"No."

Taking a different tact, Molesley said quickly, "I don't think Miss Baxter believes me that it glows."

Bates turned to the lady's maid, his face betraying so little emotion that its stone-like facade left her uncomfortable.

"I never said that," she offered quietly. "I'm sure if Mister Bates says it glows, then it glows. I've never known Mister Bates to lie."

She met the valet's gaze, and in that moment, her lingering nervousness around the man vanished. She could see that behind his gruff exterior, a calm and loyal person lay within. Still, Baxter much preferred the naive innocence of Mr. Molesley, a man who was yet untouched by rooted pessimism despite a lifetime of misfortune and missed opportunities.

"I appreciate such confidence," Bates told her. Then, turning to Molesley, he said, "If you keep up your practice, perhaps someday we can talk again on this matter. But I really must get on. Good afternoon."

He bit them farewell and vanished into the house, whipping his cape out of the way so his hand was free enough to open the back door.

"Why is he wearing a cape?" Baxter asked.

"Cape's cool," Molesley muttered. "Cape's cool, man."

* * *

Two dark figures moved through the house, sticking to the shadows as they stalked their prey.

"I could get in a lot of trouble for bring you here."

"Quit your whining. You sound like a frightened little girl."

The male muttered resentfully, "I do not."

They paused in the upper gallery looking down. The family was greeting their guests for dinner - the Dowager Countess and Isobel Crawley, both women dressed to the nine's in all their upper and upper middle class finery, respectively.

"We have to get them alone," the woman urged, her tone sharp and unyielding.

"And how do you propose to do that?"

"That's your job, not mine."

Annoyed, Thomas asked, "Then what exactly is your job? Because from where I'm standing, it doesn't feel like you do much of anything but order me around."

With the family downstairs moving out of view into the dining room, O'Brien reached out her hand as though to strangle the under butler. But her fingers did not need to make contact with his neck as his breathe seized in his throat and his feet came up off the floor. His toes scrambled for purchase as his hands went to his neck, but he could not fight the invisible force.

Thomas gagged for several long moments before she let him down, and he dropped to his knees as he gasped for breath.

"I trust we understand each other?" O'Brien asked, pulling out a cigarette. The flash of a match briefly illuminated her face in the darkness as she lit it.

* * *

Bates felt the shift in the force, but he could not pinpoint its source. Something was not right. Not even Thomas' slimy presence could prickle his subconscious on such a deep and primal level. No, something worse had come to Downton.

He excused himself from dinner, waving off Anna's expression of concern. But as he began to ascend the steps to go upstairs, a voice from behind stopped him.

"Mister Bates. Could I have a quick word?"

"What is it, Mister Carson?" he asked, barely containing his annoyance. Sometimes having a secret identity could be tedious business.

"Perhaps we could step into my pantry?"

"Please just tell me what it is about. I am on an urgent errand-"

"And I have to get back upstairs to attend to the dinner, but this is very important. It is about the cheese, Mister Bates, and I know of nothing so urgent as that."

Before Bates could lose his temper, both men heard a scream echo from upstairs. With barely a look of acknowledgment to each other, they quickly went up. As they reached the top, a younger maid burst through the door into the stairwell and tried to rush down past them. Bates let her go, but the butler moved to block her path.

"What is the meaning of this ruckus?" he demanded.

The young woman gaped at him with wide eyes, unable to speak. Bates left them, needing no explanation for the maid's panic. He could already feel the disturbance in the force growing stronger, and he knew from whence it came.

He limped up the stairs as fast as he could manage while still pretending to at least use his cane. Behind him, others followed but he had not a moment to lose in explaining his haste. His instincts and his knowledge of the house and a distinct odor of cigarette smoke led him directly to where he needed to be, and he arrived at the same moment as someone else who heeded the same call.

The Dowager approached the door from the other end of the hall, having gotten there through some other method of which he was unfamiliar. They both removed their lightsabers at the same moment and activated them.

With a flourish, Bates said, "After you, your ladyship."

The old woman who kicked down the door to the nursery, and he followed behind her.

Inside, they found Thomas, who held Master George on one hip and Marigold on the other, both children surprisingly quiet and well mannered. And in front of him stood the black-clad figure of his dark mistress.

"So we meet again," Violet said dramatically, stepping forward. Her lightsaber crackled with energy, as if anticipating another duel.

"When I left before, I was but a lady's maid," O'Brien said huskily, her dark eyes flashing with anger. "Now I am the lady."

"You are not a lady," huffed her opponent, "you are but a disgrace of a lady's maid."

"Says you," the other woman said petulantly.

For his part, Bates moved to square off against the child-laden under butler. "You have no where to go, Thomas," he said.

"You wouldn't attack me while I'm holding children," Thomas returned, grinning in evil delight.

"Put the children down."

"Never!"

He let out a maniacal laugh so close to "Muwahahahaha" that it brought everyone in the room up short.

"And just what was that?" O'Brien asked her companion.

"Nothing," Thomas answered, coloring in embarrassment. "I just always wanted to do that."

"A villain and an actor," Violet muttered in distaste, "How charming."

"Everyone's a critic."

The moment evaporated and the four returned to their earnest positions. Three lightsabers hummed in the confined space, and Little George whimpered in tired confusion. Marigold said nothing but starred ahead as blankly as she normally did.

"Let us pass," O'Brien warned, "or we will kill the children."

"You will do no such thing!" came a booming voice from the open doorway, and Bates turned towards the source.

Behind them, the large and commanding form of Mr. Carson entered the room. He stood so tall and full in the shoulders that he seemed to fill the entire space. Fixing his eyes on O'Brien, he twitched in surprise but quickly recovered.

"I don't know _what_ you're doing here or what that... glowing thing is that you are holding, but you will hand it over _immediately_ and return down stairs _at once_ , Miss O'Brien."

"But..." she began, obviously cowed.

" _ **This instance**_ , Miss O'Brien."

The woman bowed her head and turned off the lightsaber, the red glow instantly disappearing. With the threat gone, Bates and the Dowager also extinguished theirs.

Turning to Thomas, Carson said, "And just what do you think you're doing with Master George and Miss Marigold, Mister Barrow?"

"Um... Returning them to their beds?" he suggested.

"I should think." He emphasized each word with a further raise of one enormous eyebrow.

O'Brien shuffled past them, stopping next to Carson only long enough to hand over her inactivated lightsaber. Shortly after her came Thomas, once he had placed the children back in their cribs. But before the under butler could leave, Carson demanded, "Aren't you forgetting something, Mister Barrow?"

He held out his hand. The under butler paused for a second before rolling his eyes and fishing out his own lightsaber. He handed it over reluctantly before following O'Brien out of the room.

The Dowager gave the butler an impressed look as she leaned heavily on her cane, looking again like a frail lady of some years. "That was impressive, Carson," she told him. "I had no idea you had such command of the force, to bend the will of a Sith and his master."

Raising an eyebrow, Carson responded, "I have no idea what a 'Sith' is, your Ladyship, but when the children of this house were threatened, I felt I had no choice but to become involved. It is quite one thing for certain individuals-" He glanced at Bates, "-to engage in shenanigans below stairs. But it is quite another when it threatens the honor of Downton."

"Shenanigans?" Bates demanded, clearly perturbed. "Now, see here..."

"You have the potential makings of a Jedi, Carson," Violet told him with an enigmatic smile. She made a soothing motion towards Bates, and the valet pressed his lips together sullenly but said nothing more on the subject.

"I'm no 'Jedi,' whatever that is. I'm simply the butler."

He bowed to the Dowager as she left the room, and once she was gone, Carson looked to the valet.

"Now, Mister Bates, if we could talk about that cheese business..."

 _fin_


End file.
